The Plights of Teenage Superheroes
by Porterz007
Summary: Hormones and superpowers do not mix well, especially in the case of a young Miss Violet Parr.
1. Omelettes

A/N I don't know why, but for some reason I am currently under the weather with a bad case of Incredibles-mania. I honestly can't believe how many things I'm defiling with this, including Pixar, the movie itself, my computer and my OC (Don't worry; this story isn't going to be very OC-centric. 'Cause, I mean, don't you just hate it when that happens?). Anyway, I seriously needed to think about the character of Violet, and none of the fanfics on all of the interweb seem to fit with what I want. So I decided to take matters into my own hands.

Without further ado,

The Plights of a Teenage Superhero

Summer, finally. The great respite from all the stresses of school, the status quo, and, most importantly, the lunchroom. Well, it was a respite at least in those senses. Violet assumed that the break from school meant she might be able to don her mask and...ah...spandex more often. Provided the police, and the politicians, and busybody civilians...

Scratch that. Three months of listening to her headphones over her parents arguing about her dad's latest job loss. And probably at least one relocation. That was what worried her the most; that she would have to sever ties with Tony. The first normal relationship that she had gotten going since, well, since ever.

"Vi, honey? Is everything okay?" asked her mother from the driver's seat.

"Yeah, fine," said Vi by way of a more enlightening response.

"What's up?" called Dash from the back.

"Shut up."

"You don't seem too happy about school letting out," said Helen. "I thought you'd be rather thrilled about no school for three months."

"But I am, mom!"

"Not you, Dash. I meant Vi."

Violet waited for a minute before responding. "Well, I guess that I just won't know what to do with my time anymore. I mean, there's Tony, but he can't be expected to spend every living moment of the summer with me. What am I supposed to do, go out and make my own Glory Days? Pft. Like that'll ever happen."

"Well, I'm sure that you'll find some way to amuse yourself," said Helen, while secretly being rather relieved. Violet had had some problems in the past.

"What about the Underminer?" Dash shot from the back. Helen clapped her hand to her forehead.

"Ooh! I almost forgot to tell you! It was on the news today. Some other super took care of him like that," she said with a snap of her fingers. "Turns out that he's really just some second-string villain."

"I didn't know that there were any other supers in the city except for us and Lucius," said Dash.

"Well, there have always been others, honey, this one just happened to be on the scene of one of the Underminer's attacks and decided to do something about it," said Helen.

"What's his name?" Violet asked quietly.

"Well, he wasn't exactly wearing a blatant supersuit, but some of the footage of the fight-which they were streaming live from the site showed him yelling 'rage' when he fought. See, it's mostly the public and the press that chooses a superhero's name, and I'm guessing in that case that this one is going to end up with the name 'Rage'. It seems a bit ominous if you ask me."

"So, beside the fact that he put an end to the Underminer, what's that got to do with us?" said Dash.

"Everything, Dash! The politicians will jump on it! They already know about the Incredibles but the public is going to get nervous if supers start to appear from out of nowhere. There are some who were unsettled by simply the presence of us, but now look what we will have to contend with! This man isn't part of our family, so we can't have any media-planning sessions with him. Things are about to get a lot harder if what I think is happening is, in fact, happening."

And with that, they pulled into the Parr driveway (their house having been rebuilt, very, very quickly by the NSA).

In her room, Violet was, true to her thoughts, listening to her headphones and reading her Teen magazine. After some time of this ritual, she shed her headphones and turned her thoughts to the nightstand.

She kept something very, very important to her hidden in there. She wondered when she would need them again. She did not feel like she would, but experience told her that it would happen again. Yet another relocation, and once again she would be reduced to doing it again. What she had built was so very fragile. Five people, one of them continuously stirring up suspicion, another continuously stirring up trouble, one that could burst into flames... Five times the chances of being relocated.

Sometimes, she thought, life just kinda sucked.

Meanwhile, a bank robbery was causing rather a crisis in the center of the city. The robbers had been intelligent enough to take some hostages, so the police were gathered outside, attempting to negotiate with the assistance of their unnecessarily large megaphone. It was not going too well. All the while, the other robbers were pulling money from the vaults that they had managed to bypass, most likely, with a very, very loud explosive. They were well aware of the police gathered outside their building, and had prepared an escape route with another very, very loud explosive.

Parked in the alley next to the bank, Mr. Incredible pulled on his mask.

"Showtime," he grinned. And with that, he entered the bank in his favorite manner: through three feet of solid stone. He came out in a silver hallway with stairs to his left. Hesitating only for a second, he hung a left. He ran down the stairs only to come upon a door fused shut. Cracking his knuckles, he pried it open as easily as if it had been stuck shut with tape.

"Alright, hands up!" he roared. Only one problem. There was only one person in the room, and he was most definitely not a bank robber, although he was dressed in a very interesting way. Black hoodie sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, jeans, and, finally, below zipped-open hoodie, a t-shirt.

"Who are you?" said Mr. Incredible incredulously.

"I'm Rage," said the teenager. "Don't worry about the robbers. I killed them."


	2. Red Tape

Sixteen hours later, Violet was in a jet. She had snuck out early in the morning, had told Kari to cover for her if her parents called, and had bypassed airport security, which had something to do with being a registered super.

She looked about her comfortably furnished surroundings. The jet was plush; the rows of seats had been removed and replaced with three couches surrounding a circular coffee table. The pilot's cabin and the kitchen cabin were both shuttered off. The outside of the plane was a solid jet black, but the inside was beige. Something about the cabin reminded her of a living room. Perhaps it was the vase of flowers in the center of the table.

The boy she had met yesterday sat across from her, his hands clasped in his lap.

"What's your name, anyway?" she said, breaking the silence that had dominated the room since she had boarded the plane.

"Names are powerful," he replied, "and I'm usually not too forward with them. But seeing as I've asked you to trust me so far, I owe you something in return. My name is Enigma."

"Huh," she said thoughtfully as she turned to stare out the window for a few minutes. She saw Metroville sinking away below them.

"Would you care for anything to drink?" he said, pointing lazily to a remote on the arm of his sofa. "We have wine, vodka, mimosa..."

"Just water, thanks," she said timidly. She had let her hair hang in front of her eyes today. She wanted Syndrome to recognize her.

"Sure," he said. He never took his eyes off her as he pushed a button and two drinks rose up through the table in the middle. His was a glass of red wine. "I thought that we might get to know each other before continuing our business. After all, were I you, I wouldn't exactly go signing illegal contracts with people I barely know. But I am hardly you."

He smirked as he brought his glass to his lips. Violet gave him a half-smile, took a small sip from her glass and turned her gaze back out the window.

"You'll know all about me, I suppose," she mumbled quietly.

"Knowledge is powerful. I wouldn't dare approach someone without knowing everything I could about them," Enigma replied.

"Then why did you think I would?" Violet shot back suspiciously. She was already mapping the different exits from the plane in the back of her mind. She should be in bed, getting extra sleep right now. Why had she arrived at the airport at barely the last minute this morning? This had not been a good idea.

"Emotion is powerful too," he said. "And besides, you aren't me. So, shall we talk terms?"

He plied a paper out from his onyx briefcase and slid it across the table to her.

"You might want to read that," he said.

"What's the point?" she said flatly. "This is illegal anyway. I'm not doing it for the pay."

Her eye twitched as she remembered the day Dad had flung the TV, the day that Buddy Pine had been released from prison. She remembered the anger in his eyes and the sweat pouring from his neck and armpits. But most of all, she remembered his face. The look had been appalling- a cross between a grimace of rage and a smile of insanity. A man who had done that to her father- a man who had done the same to the families of nearly a hundred other supers- deserved the one thing that Violet never deemed herself worthy to visit upon others.

Death.

"Of course you aren't doing it for the pay," Enigma said calmly. "But my, ah, superiors, always prefer to have paperwork. They can justify assassinating those who don't complete their missions if they have the contracts. Oh, and don't worry, there is a clause on that stipulating that you shall be killed for failure to complete the objective."

"You never told me that was part of it," Violet said, leaning back on her sofa, putting on what she hoped was a mask of cool reserve.

"It wasn't necessary," he dismissed her. "I'm sure that you'll have no qualms about killing a man who hurt your family quite so dearly."

"I'd like to know who you're working for before signing that," she said immediately. This whole business was going too far out of her depth. He tapped the contract again.

"That's something that you're not allowed to know either. But I recommend that you look at the second half."

She scanned the bottom of the page. It was the rewards section.

Upon completion of the indicated task, the signer shall receive a sum no less than fifteen million dollars, after taxes. This amount shall be paid in monthly stipends, assuming that the signer is of an age equal to or greater than the age of suffrage within his or her country...

The legalese continued on some after that, but Violet didn't need to read it. The reward was absurd. But something didn't fit.

"Yesterday, when you said you were talking about money, you said you wouldn't make me rich."

Enigma nodded and leaned forward. "Fifteen million dollars is not a terribly large sum for an assassination contract. Unfortunately, the last super who would perform assassinations for us was recently terminated by the Russian government."

"And what are the guarantees that the US government isn't going to come after me?" she demanded deliberately and slowly.

"Buddy 'Syndrome' Pyne resides on a private island, in international waters. While your signing this contract is a violation of United States law, the actual assassination, taking place in international waters on an entirely unobserved and almost secret island, will not be in conflict with international law so long as you are not identified as affiliated with any country."

Violet sat back for a second, attempting to drink it all in, and failing miserably. "English, please," she said.

"No laws exist on Nomanisan Island, basically. As you already know."

Her eyes widened. "You didn't tell me that we were already headed to Nomanisan Island," she said hurriedly. "How do you suppose we're going to fly in without being fired upon?"

He sipped his wine calmly. "Easy," he said. "I already have Syndrome's trust. My organization has deemed him to be more dangerous than he is useful. We fly in, you eliminate Syndrome, my organization confiscates his equipment, you fly out a little bit richer, and everything carries on as usual."

"You make it sound easy," she said under her breath.

"It is," he said casually as the seatbelt lights flickered on. "Oh, and I'll need to give you this."

He slid a small silver handgun across the table to her.

"One shot. Pierces anything, accurate to a hundred feet, projectile travels at three thousand feet per second and sends about four thousand volts through whatever it hits. Pulling the trigger will alert me that your job is done."

Out of the window, the blueness of the Caribbean was being replaced with the lush green and purple hues of the tropical island. Violet took a few deep breaths.

"I'm in," she said as she signed the document.


End file.
